


Swinging Both Ways

by saintsaint



Category: Spider-Man: Into the Spider-Verse (2018)
Genre: (S)Bidar. is that anything, Bisexuality, Gen, characters to be added as they appear
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-12-24
Updated: 2019-01-23
Packaged: 2019-09-25 21:59:13
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 2
Words: 8,936
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17129486
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/saintsaint/pseuds/saintsaint
Summary: It turns out there is one more thing all of the Spider-People have in common.Miles finds himself questioning some things about himself.





	1. Thursday Evening: Confusion

**Author's Note:**

> features: cartoon violence, some mild language, and a kid struggling a bit with his sexuality. this story got a bit... out of hand. oh dear.

Miles is a talented artist, a smart kid, and he can do freaking backflips in his sleep. Miles fought off Kingpin, one-on-one, and saved the city within a week of getting his powers. Miles is the  _ one _ and  _ only _ Spider-Man. (Well, the one and only Spider-Man in his universe) ((Well,  _ usually _ he’s the one and only. Most of the time, definitely.))

That is to say: Miles is  _ so cool _ . Miles is  _ being  _ so cool. Miles is  _ the coolest _ , right now, and always, and he should  _ totally  _ not be even a little bit worried about it.

“Dude, are you even listening?”

It’s just that Gwen’s face is  _ right there _ . Her hair has grown back some in the months since they met, but she recently chopped it even shorter -- it’s shorn near to the scalp on the sides, and the longer hair on the top of her head hangs down in her eyes, creating a blonde, wavy curtain between her face and Miles’. Her eyebrows are a little scrunched, eyes narrowed, lips a bit pursed, her expression somewhere between amusement and concern. She smells like ginger and like the black tea they’re sharing.

“Miles?”

“Yeah?” says Miles, totally cool, definitely not kind of squeaking. He might be holding his breath a little but that’s hardly relevant.

Gwen’s eyebrows crease a little more, the scales tilting worryingly past concern and rapidly towards  “weirded out.” Her hand comes into Miles’ vision, still gloved and a little hesitant. “Chili paste,” she says, and Miles definitely does not look at the way her lips part and come together as she says it. “You’ve got some chili paste. Right there,” and she thumbs between his thumb and cheek.

**MILES** , says his inner monologue, as Gwen leans back, puzzled and amused in equal measure, and wipes her fingers on a cheap paper napkin.  **YOU’RE BEING KIND OF UNCOOL RIGHT NOW. MILES? BUDDY, PLEASE** _. _

Miles remembers suddenly to breathe, and he takes a big gulp of air, which startles the girl sitting next to him.  **YOU JUST MADE IT WORSE. CONSIDER ATTEMPTING TO BE NORMAL, MAYBE** , the voice in his head suggests, and Miles lets out his huge breath in a laugh that is not at all nervous. “Sorry,” he says, unthinkingly, and Gwen shakes her head with a roll of her eyes.

“It’s cool. Are you okay?”

“Yeah! Haha, yep, I am okay, everything is  _ okay _ ,” replies Miles, squeezing his hands hard into the edge of the building they are perched on, grounding himself with the sensation of rough concrete through his gloves.  _ You are just hanging out with a friend, Morales. A really cool friend, sure, but you are just eating some food together. It’s just Gwen. You need to be normal, dude, come on.  _ He is usually  _ fine _ , this is  _ so stupid _ , and he swipes up his paper cup and takes a burning gulp of hot black tea as his mind races for an excuse for his total blanking for like a minute there. “I just remembered I have a paper due in, uh, chemistry, about uh. About… pepper.”

At that, Gwen’s face gets caught somewhere in between a frown and laugh, clearly trying to determine whether she’s being messed with. They’re finishing up some takeout dim sum on the roof of a residential building in Chinatown, at a recommendation from -- of all people -- Spider-Ham. When he had learned that Miles’ dimension had this particular restaurant and that neither he nor Gwen had ever had dim sum, steam had literally blown out of his ears and he’d demanded that they immediately go try the pork buns. Though cross-universe visits were necessarily limited -- interdimensional wristwatches were awesome, but they still needed time to gather up enough energy for the jump -- Ham had sponsored the trip, dismissing protests with the insistence that he wasn’t a fan of traveling anyway, and those buns really were to die for.

And so Gwen is here, in Miles’ universe, sitting next to him and nibbling on a fried tofu roll. The plan is for her to relax a bit, finish some of her homework while her dimension’s school is on break, and visit May and Miles for a few days to make the trip worth her while before she pops back to her dimension for who-knows-how-long.

This is also the first time she and Miles are spending any real time together without the immediate threat of world destruction or personal death, so this little visit is kind of important to Miles. He missed all of the Spider-People he’d met during that fateful week, sometimes quite terribly, but he and Gwen had become especially close since figuring out interdimensional texting. The two had a lot in common, both being teenage heroes, and she also happened to be without a doubt the Coolest Person Miles Knew. She was so smart, and funny, and in a  _ band _ . Rad.

“You have a paper due on  _ pepper _ ?” demands Gwen, the smile winning out and spreading across her face. “Pepper, of salt and pepper? The condiment?”

“And other spices,” says Miles, defensively, and at her incredulous look he raises his hands as if in surrender. “Hey, flavor is apparently a very complicated process! For instance,” and, inspired, he snatches up the last of the taro dumplings, “ _ this  _ is just some mushrooms and vegetables wrapped up in potato dough, right? It’s good, sure, but --”

“I would argue it’s  _ really  _ good, actually, but I don’t see --”

“ _ Listen _ , listen! On its own it’s fine, it’s even good. But if you dip it in some, some, some soy sauce mixed with a little chili paste --” Miles demonstrates, a little sloppily spooning some of the chili into one of the little soy sauce takeout containers, giving them a quick mix and dunking his dumpling with a growing sense of confidence, “the flavors work together, and it becomes  _ delicious _ .” He grins at her, displaying his not-too-bad excuse between them.  **SMOOTH** .

“I guess? But a paper about  _ pepper _ ? A pepper paper? Weird, dude.” Before he can respond, Gwen casually webs Miles’ dumpling hand and pulls it to her, plucking her prize from his fingers and biting into it.

Miles protests, Gwen shoves his reaching hands away, and thankfully that embarrassing moment of Miles completely blanking just because his friend had gotten a little close is forgotten about. The two squabble for a few minutes more, munching at the remnants of the food, finishing off the tea and finally agreeing to split the last of the fried sesame balls.

Below them stretches the Village, busy with the early evening rush to get out of work. It’s a bit too early for Crime With A Capital C, and it’s a cloudy, busy Thursday besides. Miles and Gwen -- that is,  _ Spider-Man and Spider-Woman _ had only needed to web around a bit, intimidate a few thugs into leaving some innocents alone, and stop one minor burglary. The light is fading quickly, though -- soon enough patrol will start in earnest, but for now they have a little time to chat. 

“Sooo your band,” Miles starts, as he spreads his legs in a V and stretches down between them. “You  _ still  _ haven’t sent me your EP. Am I ever gonna get to hear it or are you just gonna hold out on me forever?”

Gwen huffs, spinning to face Miles and stretching her own legs out into a much wider V than his own. (Miles is  _ not  _ jealous of the flexibility of a trained dancer.) She holds her hands out to him and he takes them in his own, pulling her closer to him so she can get a deeper stretch. She makes it look so easy, and maybe Miles  _ is _ a little jealous as they switch and he finds he can barely go half as far as she can before his own muscles start to protest.

“We’re sort of taking a break,” Gwen admits, and Miles looks up at her in surprise as he takes his turn to pull her into another deep stretch.

“What? I thought you guys had, like, just gotten out there. What happened? The Maryjanes already having creative differences?”

Gwen’s eyes are a little tight as she starts to pull Miles back towards her. “Actually, me and MJ are not really talking right now. We… had a fight. It’s sort of put a damper on the whole band, so -- we’re taking a break.”

Miles whistles lowly, then says “ow” very quietly as Gwen pulls him a little too far and the stretch hits just the other side of painful.

“Sorry,” says Gwen immediately, releasing him and laying back, from which she pushes up into a back handspring, then into a handstand. She shifts her weight from one hand to the other, stretching out her fingers and arms.

“I’m sorry, too,” says Miles. He knows trying to mimic her will end in embarrassment, so he stands up and jumps lightly from foot to foot as as he shakes out his arms. “Do youuu... wanna talk about what happened, or --?”

“She dumped me.”

Miles trips over his own feet. “She  _ what _ ?” His voice definitely cracks as he tries to right himself, overcorrects, and falls to the rooftop to land hands-first as if he were totally just diving down to do some quick pushups.  **YOU ARE NOT PULLING THIS OFF VERY WELL, MILES** . He is probably pulling this off just fine, thanks. “She -- you -- you were --?!”

“Yeah, well,” Gwen says, and pulls her mask down over her face and flips up her hood in one smooth movement --  **SO COOL** \-- “creative differences, and all that. The band was the most important thing to her, but I had Spider-Woman stuff, and I couldn’t tell her, so.” She leans down, elegance in a white suit, and in one smooth movement snatches up the paper bag of their dim sum garbage and tosses it at Miles’ head. “Race you to the Flatiron?”

Miles catches it, but barely -- thanks, super-reflexes, really giving it our all today, huh -- and feels his stomach drop as his friend leaps from the roof, already shooting out a web to catch herself.

Something is crawling in his gut as she goes, something is buzzing in his head, and he is about positive that -- for some reason -- he is  _ blushing _ .  _ She’s -- she’s _ \-- Miles inhales as Spider-Woman turns back to check on his progress; he can tell, even from here, even through the mask, that she’s grinning at him, trying to focus on the moment, trying to be present with her friend rather than thinking about the MJ of her universe.

Miles pulls his mask down --  _ come on, Morales  _ \-- and with a running jump, catapults himself off the building after her.

Down below, a speed-walking pedestrian jumps when a greasy, weighted paper bag flies out of nowhere to land perfectly in the trashcan next to them. Mystified, they look up, just missing the _thwip_ s as their friendly neighborhood Spider-People race away.

* * *

 

They end up barely stopping at the Flatiron -- they land, Spider-Woman easily in the lead, and have just a moment to catch their breaths before they hear sirens and both of them turn towards the sound, the hairs on their bodies pricking up in a sort of primal alarm. A number of police cruisers have turned north, speeding towards the Upper West Side.

“Trouble,” Spider-Woman says grimly. “You ready?”   


“Uh,” says Miles, his heartbeat still sounding kind of funny in his ears and his stomach a bit queasy, eyes wide as he stares at one of his best friends. “Yyyeah. So, wait, you --”

“Then let’s go!” she says, leaping forward again, and Spider-Man pulls himself together and launches himself after her again.

**SO SHE DATES GIRLS. THAT’S COOL.**

_ I have no problem with one of my friends dating girls _ , Miles says to himself, mentally shaking his shoulders a bit at his continued weird, sudden nervousness.  _ It is cool. It is very cool, totally cool. It is not at all a problem. _

**IT IS MAYBE A LITTLE BIT OF A PROBLEM.**

_ No, it is not at all a problem, because I have no problem with people being gay! I can be supportive! I am supportive! This is totally fine!! I just ate too many pork buns, that’s all. _

**THE PROBLEM IS NOT THAT A FRIEND MIGHT BE GAY. THE PROBLEM --**

_ Oh do not say it, _ Miles growls to himself, overshooting his jump by a little in his distraction -- he falls for a moment, mind a little blank, before Spider-Woman herself shoots a web his way and he grabs it, fixing his arc off hers before getting back into the swing of it.

“You okay?” she calls, and Miles answers in the affirmative, even as he identifies the feeling he’s experiencing: it is  _ dismay _ .

**THE PROBLEM IS THAT IF GWEN IS GAY, YOU COULD NEVER BE WITH HER.**

At this, Miles makes a little embarrassed whine under his breath.  _ Come on, Morales, do not get caught up in this right now! You are Spider-Man! You have a city to save! You can worry about your dumb crush later oh WOAH is THAT what we’re dealing with?? _

He lands in a crouch on a skyscraper a block over from the sleek, squat silver building surrounded by a number of police cruisers. Spider-Woman hangs off the wall next to him, eyeing the scene.

Even without the spotlights focused on the building, the light of the near-full moon would clearly illuminate what was happening. The building is labeled as  _ NASA Goddard Science Insti _ , and a good quarter of the top floor -- as well as the rest of the sign -- have been blown apart, smoking somewhat in the coolness of the evening. Two men struggle by the hole in the building, one pale and dark-cloaked, the other tall, handsome, and out of his league.

The handsome one makes a quick kick to the other’s legs and attempts to rush past him, but the other man dodges like it’s nothing and grabs him by the throat with superhuman speed. He yanks him to the edge of the building, dangling him over the drop, and Miles’ own throat goes tight.

As one, Spider-Man and Spider-Woman leap into action. She goes for the victim; he webs right above the villain’s head, shooting himself forward and shouting to get his attention -- “Hey tall, pale, and nasty!”

The guy looks towards him and -- **YEURGH** . His face is -- pale, and decidedly Voldemort-like. His nose is flattened and shoved up, eyes intense and red, mouth open in a snarl that reveals long, curving fangs.

“You trying to be the next Batman?” Spider-Man snarks, before landing feet-first perpendicular to the guy’s chest. Spooky’s mouth makes a little “o” of pain as he loses his grip on Handsome Guy; Spider-Man’s momentum carries the two of them farther into the building, out of the light of the moon, and into a high counter covered in glass beakers that smash under their weight.  **WHOOPS** . “Pretty sure that’s copyright infringement, dude.”

Spider-Woman snatches Handsome out of the air, setting him down safely a few feet away from the edge. Spider-Man turns back to Spooky, intending to web the guy’s hands to the wall, but he’s already shoving past him, eyes focused on Handsome. “The gem! No!!”

Perfect time for a quip -- “sure he’s cute, but I dunno if I’d call him a gem” -- but Spider-Woman misses her cue. Instead, she sets Handsome on his feet and ducks beneath Spooky’s guard to slam her elbow into his chin, following that with a spinning kick that sends him flying back and into her co-hero.

**GRAB HIM MILES** . Nope. Instead, Spooky recovers mega-fast -- definitely meta-human -- and snatches Spider-Man’s arm, yanking him against his chest in a tight squeeze.  **DAMMIT MILES** .

Spooky’s voice comes out accented strangely, rushed, and decidedly panicked. “I will trade you -- man for a man. The Colonel has something I need. Give him to me.”

“Hey,” Spider-Man protests, a little offended. “I am not collateral here.”

“No deal,” says Spider-Woman, sinking into a crouch. “Let him go.”

Miles feels Spooky’s arm tighten around him, and suddenly his body is rigid with a primal warning -- something is about to go  _ very  _ wrong -- 

Looking up, Miles can see Spooky grit his teeth, then bare them. “Fine,” he says, “you have brought this on him yourself.” And he lunges suddenly for Miles’ neck.

**_NOPE_ ** , says every voice available to Miles, and his Venom Strike shocks through him, electrocuting Spooky where he stands. His grip loosens, and Spider-Man, finally back in control of the situation, launches himself out of his reach. “ _ Dude _ ,” he says, flipping back to face Spooky, who is already getting back up. Yikes.

He’s growling, but hesitates, eyebrows drawn down as he looks at his assailant. “Wait,” Spooky says, “you, your voice -- you are a child?”

“No!” Miles squawks, then tries again. “No,” proclaims Spider-Man in a deep, powerful voice, but Spooky is just staring at him, a strange expression on his face.

There is a click, and all of them turn to the door, which has opened to reveal an armored SWAT team.

Spooky looks between the young Spider-People and the formally trained professionals, and puts up his hands. “I surrender,” he announces. “But you will need some very strong bonds to keep me. Containment for a meta-human would be best. I am quite dangerous.”

There is a pause, and then the SWAT team shuffles aside to allow a soldier with a set of enhanced handcuffs to come forward. He seems nervous, and Spider-Man takes that moment to shoot a few webs around Spooky, binding his arms to his sides and covering his freaky, freaky mouth.

“Doctor,” says a quiet voice from behind them, and Handsome steps forward, hesitant. His eyes are dark brown and huge, worried, pained. “I’m sorry, Doctor. I just don’t think -- ”

Dr. Spooky huffs out a laugh against his webbed mouth, shaking his head almost ruefully.

A member of the SWAT team steps forward to Handsome -- “Colonel, are you alright?” -- and Spider-Man jumps a tiny bit at the gloved hand that touches his shoulder.

“Ready?” asks Spider-Woman, catching his eye, and preparing to jump out of the building.

“So are you gay, then?” asks Miles, extremely casually, appropriately, and on purpose.

Gwen stumbles, eyes widening in disbelief, and she falls out the building.

**MILES YOU ARE JUST REALLY NOT KILLING IT TODAY** , notes his inner monologue, and Miles swears under his breath at his absolutely  _ idiocy _ , and throws himself after her, leaving the closing crime scene behind him.

Gwen has webbed just down the street and onto the elaborate towered roof of a nearby cathedral. Miles, already wincing, follows. She’s pulled her mask off and is looking at him with such incredulity that Miles actually  _ flickers  _ while removing his own, his embarrassment so strong that it knocks him out of visibility for a moment. “I am  _ so sorry _ ,” he starts, but Gwen is shaking her head.

“I’m not gay,” she says, and she sounds weirdly  _ confused _ as she eyes Miles, who shrinks under her look.

“O-Oh,” says Miles.  **SMOOTH, MILES** . “Sorry, I just -- I thought -- you and MJ -- ?”

“We  _ were  _ dating,” Gwen confirms, eyes narrowing. Miles really does  _ not  _ like the way she seems to be doing some kind of mental math right now, and his heart is feeling mega weird and tight, and his cheeks feel like they are on  _ fire _ , and he feels way tinier than her even though she’s only got like, half an inch on him. Maybe three quarters of an inch.

**EH, CLOSER TO AN INCH AND A HALF** .

_ Not right now, please _ , replies Miles.

“Ssso, you’re. You’re not gay then?” he asks, and wishes very strongly that he could venom strike himself into unconsciousness right about now.

Gwen’s eyebrows wrinkle, her lips scrunching up, and Miles realizes his heart is seriously pounding as his eyes dart around her face, taking everything in -- aw jeeze he might, he might. He might actually have a bit of a problem here. Like, a liking problem. A  _ like _ -like problem.  **YOU HAVE A CRUSH ON HER** , realizes his inner monologue, sounding an awful lot like one Peter B. Parker.  **HUH. THIS MIGHT ACTUALLY BE PRETTY BAD, BUD** .

“...No,” Gwen says, slowly, like she’s trying to work something out in her head. “I’m bi? Just like -- ?” And she stops speaking suddenly, eyes widening as she steps closer to Miles, staring him down with something like disbelief.

Miles takes a step back at her sudden closeness, but Gwen steps forward again. Miles ducks; Gwen slams an arm between them, blocking him, and he camouflages out of sight, but she spins out an elegant leg and knocks him down all the same, then crouches over him as he lets himself return to visibility. She is staring at him, body over his, light from the moon filtering through her hair and highlighting the pastel pink and blue streaks in it.

Miles gulps. She is  _ so gorgeous _ .

**OH MAN, KID, YOU’VE GOT IT** **_BAD_ ** **, HUH?**

_ Please be quiet _ , begs Miles, eyes wide, holding his breath while Gwen somehow leans in  _ even closer _ to him.  _ Please, imaginary voice, you are being SO loud right now and it’s REALLY important to me that she not hear what you’re saying _ .

**OKAY, OKAY, I’LL BE QUIET. JUST PLAY IT COOL, MILES, YOU’VE TOTALLY GOT THIS** .

New York City is pretty quiet right now, Miles realizes. Distantly he can hear news choppers hovering around the Goddard building down the street, and of course Manhattan’s never  _ silent _ , but he is pretty sure the loudest things in the city at this moment are his pounding heart and the way Gwen takes in a little breath, leans back onto her heels, and says, “Huh.”

Miles tries to say something, manages a completely unintelligible squeak, clears his throat very manfully and tries again. “Uh, Gw- what? Gwen?”

She eyes him a moment longer, head tilted to the side, face somewhat hidden by the shadows. “Huh,” she says again, and then stands up. Miles, suddenly, remembers breathing.

She cocks out a hip, plants one hand on it, holds the other towards Miles. He takes it, extremely confused and a little light-headed. “Yeah, I’m bisexual. I like people regardless of their gender,” she says, matter-of-factly, casually, and pulls him up and under her arm, quickly rubbing her knuckles against his skull in a noogie.

“Hey,” squawks Miles, shoving her hands off of him and managing to get a step away. “Jeeze, uh. Sorry, I --” he starts, unsure what he’s about to say, but she cuts him off.

“No, I’m sorry,” and she gives him such a genuine, apologetic smile that she might as well have knocked him to the ground again. “I just remembered that you have that pepper paper to do and we’re like, all the way across the city from your school. We should get going?”

“Pepper paper?” asks Miles, wondering what was in that dim sum. She lifts up onto her pointe shoes, eyebrows raised at him as she pulls down her mask. “Oh, oh! Right, right. My paper pepper. Pepper paper. Paper about peppers. Haha, yeah, we should, I --” he checks his watch -- “...I am supposed to be back in 15 minutes,” he finishes.

Gwen knocks his shoulder with her own. “Race you,” she says, and webs his feet to the ground as she leaps from the church tower.

“Hey!”

She wins, naturally. Certainly the cheating has something to do with it, but Miles finds himself laughing with her even as she throws obstacles his way. At one point she nearly loses her own footing to laughter when she tricks him into a small flock of roosting pigeons, and by the time they get back -- five minutes late, but just seconds before the security guard checks in on him and Ganke -- Miles is grinning again, feeling grateful to have Gwen as a friend.

As he waves her off, him wrapped in the blankets on his top bunk and her giving him a mock little salute from the windowsill before leaping away, Miles’ inner monologue makes a sly reappearance.

**SO SHE’S SINGLE** . Miles leans back in bed, squeezes his eyes shut, suddenly feeling very weird again.  **AND SHE’S BI, SO YOU COULD HAVE A CHANCE.** His stomach tightens at this, his shoulders tense up -- some different kind of anxiety, beyond the possible crush problem, and not his Spidey Sense, either.  **SO WHAT ARE YOU SO WORKED UP ABOUT?**  


_ That _ , Miles thinks to himself, eyebrows lowering as he stares up at his dorm room’s ceiling,  _ is a very good question _ .


	2. Friday: Comparison

> **Gwaaanda** : why didn’t u tell me u had a free period i would have brought lunch early
> 
> **mmorales** : tbh i forgot
> 
> gwen i’m so hungry tho
> 
> :( gwen
> 
> **Gwaaanda** : :( miles
> 
> **mmorales** : :( :( :(
> 
> **Gwaaanda** : i am literally on the empire state building rn
> 
> **mmorales** : gwen i am a growing boy
> 
> !!! pics
> 
> **Gwaaanda** : ugh

“Is that Gwen? Did you tell her we have free period now? Is she gonna bring us DeMatteis & Zeck’s? Tell her to bring us DeMatteis & Zeck’s.”

Ganke leans over Miles’ shoulder to better see his friend’s tablet, intentionally mashing his forehead into Miles’ ear. Ow.

Miles leans forward; Ganke trustingly follows. _Perfect_. With a satisfied little smirk, Miles ducks suddenly out of the way to let Ganke to lose his balance. Ever the showman, he collapses bodily to the ground, clutching his arm, writhing dramatically and moaning about betrayal.

The courtyard is nearly full with students on this unusually warm March day, though none take notice of these antics. Visions Academy has necessarily become accustomed to these kinds of displays from Lee and Morales.

“You’re gonna get muddy,” Miles warns, returning to his casually-too-cool-for-this seated position and resettling the tablet against his knees. Ganke sniffles pitifully, reaching up and tugging on Miles’ pant leg. “Dude.”

“Tell Gwen you killed me and only DeMatteis & Zeck’s can bring me back.”

“Nah.”

Ganke gets to his knees and brushes off his school blazer, twisting back and forth to check for dirt. “Tell Gwen I want their new chicken panini. Did you actually get mud on me?”

“ _I_ did not get mud on you. _I_ had nothing to do with it. _You_ did get some on your butt, though.”

Ganke lets out another groan. “Not _again_. I am so done with getting demerits for this. Did you know you’re a bad influence? Does Gwen know? Tell Gwen you’re a bad influence and that she should just hang out with me instead.”

“Nah,” says Miles, but he dutifully taps out a message to Gwen anyway.

> **mmorales** : ganke promises his undying love if you bring him the new chkn sndwch from dm&z

i want the chili plzzz. ill pay you back

Having removed the worst of the dirt from his uniform, Ganke pulls himself back onto the picnic bench next to Miles. They bump shoulders gently, and Ganke fishes an old Spider-Man comic book out of the special front pocket on his messenger bag. Unlike his clothes, the rest of his bag, their shared room, and every other comic series he has, this issue is clean and unwrinkled, kept carefully pristine in a clear plastic cover, just like all of his Spider-Man collection. Miles holds in a smile as his friend settles in next to him.

Their spot today is _excellent_ , if Miles may say so himself. The sun is shining determinedly, blessing the far end of the courtyard and the picnic table they snagged. From their seats they can see most everyone else, from the upperclass English lesson that the teacher was too weak to keep inside to the wide windows of the raised gymnasium. A sparsely-leafed little tree stands next to them, and while the shadows it casts are a bit chilly, that’s something Miles is content to sacrifice for a little extra privacy.

Miles _knows_ Gwen is going to appreciate it. With the tree there, if she sits just right -- as in, on the table right behind Miles, so close they might accidentally brush against each other, her knees or hip pressed against his side -- she’ll be able to see everything around them without being so visible herself. Miles is pretty pleased with this. **DEFINITELY WORTH “VANISHING” FROM CHEM LAB A BIT EARLY**.

“Is Gwen --?”

“Yeah, I asked her, yeah,” Miles confirms with a roll of his eyes. “Is food the _only_ thing you think about?”

As if affronted, Ganke presses his hand to his heart and sends Miles a wounded look over his glasses. “Hey, man, I’m just trying to make sure I have the fuel I need to do my best friend’s superhero research --”

“ _Shh_!” hisses Miles, glancing around. Every other person in their school’s small green space is focused elsewhere, chatting, reading, or soaking up the sun. Still, Miles gives Ganke a warning glare. “Keep it down, dude.”

“Okay, sorry, sorry, but it’s not like anyone’s listening.” Ganke shakes his comic book open with an expansive gesture that puts Miles in mind of black and white television and handsome, old-fashioned men reading the morning paper. “So you came in late last night. Was there trouble?”

To anyone else, Ganke would be the perfect image of idle small talk: shoulders relaxed, eyes on the colorful book in his hands, tone airy and neutral. But Miles has been friends with the guy for months now; he knows better.

His shoulders are too still, his gaze locked in one place, and the rapid tempo of his bouncing ankle speaks louder than his tone -- Miles’ heart swells as his best friend tries his best not to let on how worried he was about him. He was only a few minutes late, but when Ganke cares about someone, he really, _really_ cares.

They’d gotten off to an admittedly weird start. Ganke was quiet, shy, and used to buckling down and powering through his work. He’d gotten made fun of in public school and was understandably pretty skittish. Meanwhile Miles was finding his otherwise charismatic and outgoing personality unhelpful in classes that demanded more work of him than he was accustomed to. The two hadn’t even gotten a chance to meet before the semester started, and once it had they found their sleep schedules so different that they had only managed a hurried, awkward introduction.

Then the whole Spider-Man thing had happened. By the time Miles could catch his breath and actually _be_ in their room of his own volition for more than a few minutes, Ganke had summoned up every scrap of his courage and put together… a powerpoint.

Honest-to-god: a detailed, meticulously researched powerpoint presentation, one bursting with evidence of Miles’ secret identity, relevant comic book panels, and several slides worth of data points _proving_ that Ganke was the ideal person to have on his side in this whole business. It had come with a _soundtrack_. Miles keeps it on his phone for when he needs a little cheer.

After that, he and Ganke had gone through a brief, stilted period where they both tried to act very cool and mature about the whole thing, superheroes and secrets and great responsibility and all that. That lasted about a week, until Miles had swung unsteadily into their room, bleeding from his first ever knife wound -- it had just nicked his cheek, but it was bleeding a _lot_ \-- and also in the middle of his first really bad panic attack.

It turned out Ganke had taken some extracurricular classes on First Aid (“I literally gave it a whole slide in my powerpoint, dude, come on”) and had lots of experience with panic attacks. He’d patched Miles up with steady hands, calmly cracking absurd, off-the-wall jokes the whole time.

By the time they stopped the bleeding Miles had managed to get his breathing back to normal. Ganke, shoving his glasses up with a blood-smudged wrist, had clapped Miles on the shoulder and smiled widely, announcing, “Alright, I think now _I’m_ going to have a panic attack.” This had surprised Miles into laughing until he realized the other boy was serious.

Ganke was layered, and Miles loved him for it. The timid, quiet kid was the mask he used against the world. You had to be vulnerable and honest with him before he would let you see more of himself, how he was remarkably steady and quick-witted, the perfect counterpoint to the nerves Miles worked so hard to keep under wraps. Beneath _that_ , Ganke was anxious again in a way that Miles found comfortingly relatable, and beyond that were further layers of his solid, clever, worrying, dependable friend.

Ganke glances at him with the air of one about to enter mother hen mode, which yanks Miles back to the present. He hadn’t answered his question yet. “Oh, nah. No trouble really -- me and Gwen dealt with a weird, like, bat guy uptown, but it was pretty quiet. I just got, uh.” He can already feel his chheks heating up but he bravely soldiers on. “...Distracted.”

“You?” says Ganke, dry as the desert. “Distracted? Around _Gwen_? Nooo.”

“Man, shut up.”

Ganke grins and turns back to his comics. Miles taps at his tablet again -- Gwen hasn’t gotten back to him yet, but the little Spider-Chat app has another notification. He pulls it up, delighted to find that it’s Peni.

> **(　･`ω･´)v** : MILES
> 
> **mmorales** : PENI
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : MILES HELP
> 
> **mmorales** : PENI WHAT?
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : MILES I’M DYING

Miles feels his hands start to tremble. With mounting alarm he goes to reply, but Peni beats him to it.

> **(　･`ω･´)v** : GWENS BAND IS SO GOOD I CANT BREATHE

A breath pushes itself out of Miles’ lungs and he puts a hand to his heart, feeling his heartbeat start to slow back to normal. Jeeze. He turns back to his tablet; Peni has continued.

> **(　･`ω･´)v** : WHY DIDNT YOU TELL ME
> 
> SHES THE DRUMMER RIGHT SHES SO GOOD
> 
> LIKE THE REST OF THEM ARE REALLY GOOD TOO AND TOGETHER REALLY REALLY GOOD BUT
> 
> GWEN IS REALLY REALLY REALLY GOOD
> 
> **mmorales** : wait how are you listening to her stuff
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : ON MY PHONE DUH

Miles rolls his eyes, fingers already moving to clarify what he meant, when Peni’s next messages come in.

> **(　･`ω･´)v** : ALSO HER BANDMATES ARE SUPER HOT WHAT THE HELL

Miles blinks. Suddenly the world feels… a little off-kilter.

> **mmorales** : isnt it an all girls band
> 
> ?
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : UM YEAH SO

_Yeah_ , Miles decides. _Off-kilter is a pretty good word for it_. He is suddenly aware of his heartbeat again, pounding away, pushing blood through his system, leaving more of it than he would like in his face.

**MILES, ARE YOU BLUSHING** **_AGAIN_ ** **?**

_Oh my god shut up_ , Miles tells himself, running his fingers along the edge of his tablet. The pattern of dings and scratches interrupted by occasional smoothness is soothing; he takes a deep breath. Uncharacteristically, Peni has not typed anything new in the past few moments. Hastily he replies.

> **mmorales** : so nothing
> 
> sorry
> 
> sorry peni i didnt mean to make you uncomfortable
> 
> im just not used to

Miles stops, briefly pressing a few fingers to the his forehead to stave off the headache he can feel mounting. _Come on, Morales_.

> **mmorales** : sorry
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : ITS OKAY
> 
> ARE PEOPLE IN YOUR DIMENSION WEIRD ABOUT THAT STUFF?

**OOOH, PUNCTUATION** , remarks his internal monologue. **FROM PENI? SHE’S TRYING TO BE REALLY NICE TO YOU ABOUT THIS.** Miles knows, thank you, and he feels weird and guilty enough about it already. He focuses back on their conversation.

> **mmorales** : sort of? i mean
> 
> i know its better than it used to be but
> 
> some people are still weird about it
> 
> sorry
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : ITS OKAY MILES :)
> 
> PEOPLE HERE CAN BE WEIRD ABOUT IT TOO
> 
> SOME PEOPLE ARE SUCH LOSERS

A smile cracks through the roil of Miles’ feelings -- leave it to Peni to be so perfectly dismissive of people’s capacity for cruelty. He consciously lowers his tensed shoulders and takes a calming breath, feeling his heartbeat return to normal.

> **mmorales** : yeah :) peni ilu
> 
> which bandmates?
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : UGH ON THE KEYBOARD
> 
> I THINK HER NAME IS GLORY
> 
> SHES SO PRETTY HELP
> 
> **mmorales** : i think gwen told me glory is the most levelheaded of them
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : OMG PERFECT BC I AM A PAN MESS
> 
> **mmorales** : haha what
> 
> wait
> 
> you never told me how you found their music
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : PAN LIKE PANSEXUAL
> 
> GWEN GAVE IT TO ME
> 
> ISNT SHE WITH YOU THIS WEEK YOU SHOULD ASK

Miles frowns. He’s _been_ asking her. Absentmindedly he opens a browser window, types in “pansexual,” and minimizes it for later. It would be a good idea to know this kind of stuff, if _two_ of his friends are already, well. Whatever the term is.

**QUEER?**

Miles winces a bit and shakes his head. _Focus, Morales_.

> **mmorales** : what do you think ive been doing ive asked her like a hundred times
> 
> peni she keeps coming up w excuses its been days
> 
> she just gave it to you?
> 
> **(　･`ω･´)v** : YEA
> 
> HMMMMMMM IM SURE SHES JUST BUSY BEING IN YOUR DIMENSION HOLD ON A SECOND
> 
> U CAN GET AUDIO IN YOUR YEAR RIGHT
> 
> **mmorales** : yea? lemme get headphones

Belatedly Miles realizes he had forgotten his own today, but Ganke’s set of earbuds are in a tangled mess sticking out of an unzipped pocket on his bag. Ganke, apparently focused elsewhere, doesn’t even comment as Miles snags them and starts to fiddle them apart. His tablet _bwoop_ s unobtrusively, announcing an audio file from Peni. Giving up untangling the earbuds as beyond his superheroic abilities, he just plugs them in and puts the mass of wires up to one ear. He taps on the file.

It opens up to the album cover, a mid-show shot of the Mary Janes on some dark, dingy stage lit up with neon accents. There are three girls in the front -- he recognizes a younger, significantly gother version of the MJ from his universe, plus a grinning bassist and admittedly cool-looking keyboardist whose fingers are a blur across her keys -- and in the back, barely visible behind her drumset, her hair clearly just shaken into her face, is Gwen.

The music starts with a fuzzy tremolo on guitar that evolves into something like a siren -- Miles raises an eyebrow -- and then Gwen’s beats start coming in, sounding less like a rhythm and more like… well, more like the matter-of-fact, secretly-charmed-by-your-idiocy tone Gwen uses when making sarcastic remarks. A grin creeps onto his face unbidden.

At which point her drumming kicks up, putting him very much in mind of the way she had swept his legs out from under him last night on that rooftop. He can absolutely hear her in the song -- every booming beat, every dry snare, every second methodical but also barely restrained. She must have some training under her belt, sharpening her, but beneath that is innate skill and a drive so powerful that Miles knows she would be incredible no matter what got in her way.

His tablet _bwoop_ s with another Spider-Chat message, and he taps it immediately because he needs to thank Peni a million times for sending him this, because _how_ has he lived without it for this long.

What comes up, however, is not his conversation with Peni, but instead one with Gwen herself. She has sent two pictures to him in rapid succession: the first is of a paper bag from DeMatteis & Zeck’s, grease already staining it in some places, with the text “i charge 4 delivery” overlaid in neon pink font. Her chipped black fingernails curl around the brown string handle; Miles spots the distinctive little scar across her pinky finger, one that she had recently admitted to him came from a rather nasty toy poodle she had known.

The second picture is a selfie. Miles immediately taps it for a closer look --

“How is it fair that one person can be _that_ gorgeous?” Ganke sighs. Miles silently agrees, his mouth dry, eyes flicking over the picture, taking everything in.

Gwen is, as she had said, on top of the Empire State Building in this picture. The city spreads out behind and beneath her, bright with reflected late morning sun and at an extreme angle and height that would make any sane person’s stomach flip -- Miles’ certainly does. She’s positioned the sun mostly behind her so it streams through her hair, leaving her face in relative shadow, but her smile is visible: it’s a little bit shy -- Gwen does _not_ like to take selfies -- but it’s genuine, and it makes her freckled cheeks bunch up. Miles can see one blue eye in the frame, amused and embarrassed in equal measure. _Gwennn_ , he thinks, weak. _This really, really isn’t fair_.

**… WAIT. DID GANKE JUST SAY --?**

Miles tears his gaze up, a little frazzled but totally playing it cool. “Huh?” he says, eloquently. “She, I -- I mean she is but -- you --?” he cuts himself off, realizing suddenly that given Miles’s position _behind him_ , Ganke cannot even see the tablet. Indeed, the other boy has lowered his comic book so far that even the least observant best friend would realize he was no longer reading it; his focus is on the other side of courtyard. Baffled, Miles follows his line of sight.

The raised gymnasium has a window in place of one of its walls, thick enough to withstand adolescent dodgeball games while still letting in some much-needed UV rays. Its thickness distorts everything a little, just enough that if you were to watch someone through it and they noticed, you could easily play off like you were not looking at _them_ specifically. Currently a group of students a year or two older than Ganke and Miles themselves have commandeered the space, using it between gym classes for some non-standard practice. They are all dressed in various amounts of white; some have their faces covered with a sort of helmet-mask combo, and many of them are holding… swords?

“Uhhh,” says Miles. “What?”

“What?” says Ganke, dreamily. Miles frowns.

“What? Uh, Ganke?”

“What?” says Ganke, suddenly, twisting around and staring at Miles with laser-like intensity. “What? Huh?”

“I asked you,” Miles replies, perplexed and approaching alarm.

“You asked me what?” Ganke’s eyebrows are lowering in confusion.

“No, I -- you said -- so I said --”

Ganke’s stomach takes this moment to let out a growl loud enough that some kids two tables over look up at them. He and Miles take a moment to blink at his stomach in surprise before looking up and making eye contact again.

Ganke is starting to look a little pink. “Uh, right,” says Miles, hastily swiping at his tablet, away from the extremely distracting selfie -- _Gwennnnn_ , something inside him whimpers, which he determinedly beats back -- and flips it around to show Ganke the image she had sent of the DeMatteis & Zeck’s bag. “Gwen’s coming. She’s bringing you your chicken thing.”

“Oh! Wait, really?” Ganke’s eyes light up, minor Abbot & Costello moment forgotten at the possibility of real food instead of cafeteria nonsense. “What! She’s so nice. Did you tell her to get that for me? Dude, you shouldn’t have, she didn’t need to do that.”

“You said you would die without it,” Miles protests, laughing. Ganke swats his knee.

“Yeah, to make _you_ feel bad, not her!” He’s turning pink again, which makes Miles grin wider. Ganke is _so weird_ and Miles absolutely _loves_ him, but the best bro code in the world could not prevent Miles from ragging on him for that minute of total, dreamy goofiness just then.

“Soooo,” he says, reining himself in -- _play it smooth, Morales_ \-- “I couldn’t help noticing that you were a little… _distracted_ just then.”

“Shut up,” says Ganke promptly, suddenly very interested in a scuff on his shoe, the zippers on his bag, his phone. “The sun was in my eyes. Do you want to listen to music? I want to listen to music. Where are my earbuds?”

Miles hands them over; Ganke scowls, but takes them and starts untangling them with the air of one whose oxygen tank is getting low but is unable to figure out how to open the packaging on their replacement. “Oooh, I can’t wait for that sandwich. Did you thank Gwen already? You should probably do that. Like, now, probably.”

“I will,” Miles reassures him. “I’m just a little _worried_ about you, man.” Ganke seems to be making the snarl of his earbuds worse, but he resolutely does not make eye contact with Miles. He is not discouraged. “It’s just not like you to get _so_ distracted when you’re in the middle of --” he lowers his voice “-- superhero research stuff.”

Ganke glances up at this, sees Miles’ expression, and redoubles his efforts at de-tangling even as he starts to full-on blush.

“Sooo. There must have been something _really_ interesting over there.” Miles makes a big show of stretching forward, squinting very thoughtfully towards the gymnasium as Ganke squeaks despairingly. “Hmm. What over there is interesting? Maybe a person?”

“Don’t,” begs Ganke, which draws Miles’ attention and immediately douses the teasing flicker he’d been fanning. His best friend looks -- almost panicked? What?

“Hey,” he says, alarmed again, “sorry, I -- uh, sorry Ganke, I didn’t mean to --?”

“It’s okay,” he says, quickly, eyes still downcast. Miles heart climbs up to his throat -- did he somehow hurt Ganke’s feelings? **NOT GOOD, MILES**.

Miles opens his mouth to -- probably apologize again, honestly -- but Ganke interrupts him, still looking at the mess of wires in his hands. “It’s okay. I’m just --” he clears his throat, looks towards the gymnasium, and Miles realizes how embarrassed and anxious his best friend is right now. “Just, you know. I don’t…”

He bites his lip. Miles turns towards the gymnasium again, this time focused -- there are probably ten or twelve upperclassmen in there, most in lines facing one another. They seem to be almost… dancing with one another? If dancing involved staying a precise distance apart, one taking a step forward for each of their partner’s steps back, and also featured the threat of possibly being whacked with the sword each held in front of themselves. All of them are wearing those mask-helmets, except for one who walks up and down the lines, apparently advising his fellow classmates

Miles blinks at the figures, head tilting as realization dawns on him that every person in that gym seems to be male.

He looks back at Ganke, who has gone completely silent, gaze unfocused in a way Miles recognizes from his own face, from looking in the mirror after particularly bad patrols. He quickly looks back at the guys in the gymnasium, then at Ganke, then back at the guys, and impulsively says, “That one’s kinda cute, isn’t he?” and holds his breath.

Ganke takes in a shuddery breath -- lets it out -- and in a small voice says, “What?”

“What?” Miles replies, but he injects as much warmth into it as he can, and Ganke finally looks up at him. Miles’ heart is still clenching nervously, but he gives his best friend the biggest grin he can manage, and when he gestures towards the guys in the gym his hand is admirably steady. “I said, that one is kind of cute. But I dunno what they’re doing, they look kinda ridiculous, right?” Miles holds his breath, waiting on Ganke.

“...They’re fencing,” he says, finally, a tiny smile quirking the edge of his lips. “Have you never heard of fencing before?”

“Pffft, like building fences? I don’t think they’re doing it right,” Miles replies, leaning back with as much flippant disdain as he can.

“No,” says Ganke, slightly shaky, but the thread of friendly mockery is growing in his voice and Miles feels his heart lighten considerably. “Are you an idiot?”

“Hey, you can’t say that to me. I might have gotten head trauma in the line of hero duty! That drone from the other day _was_ moving pretty fast.”

“No head trauma you didn’t have before, dude. Haven’t you seen _Sword of the Rings_?”

“No,” lies Miles.

“You have a poster for it in our room.”

“Hmmm. Maybe I just got it because it had pretty people on it.”

The poster (a signed copy, a gift for his twelfth birthday from his Unc-- from Miles’ -- from a family member) has, notably, only men on it. Pretty men, sure, but men all the same.

Ganke snorts. “Alright. Sure. Do you wanna watch some of the first movie tonight?”

“Only if the pretty ones are in it,” says Miles, smiling.

“Great, we can use your copy on DVD,” Ganke replies, rolling his eyes. But he smiles, too, and his shoulders aren’t nearly so tense anymore, so Miles lets out a little breath of relief. “His name is Jay, by the way.”

“What?” says Miles, genuinely this time, and Ganke laughs out loud.

“That guy -- the fencing captain. He’s a year above us. His name is Jay Walters,” Ganke says, voice rippling between gratitude, embarrassment, and the sort of primness that Miles has only ever heard from him when defending his love of building legos or collecting comics. “And _you_ already have a crush problem, so you can _step off_.”

At this Miles sputters, cheeks suddenly flaming. Ganke laughs in his face, and Miles -- very carefully and gently -- shoves him off the picnic table, to which his best friend retaliates by yanking hard and sudden enough on Miles’ ankle that he is dragged down with him.

By the time Gwen arrives with their food, Miles is grumpily sitting on the ground, uniform covered in dirt, while Ganke perches proudly on the bench, waving Gwen over to the spot he claims he saved for her and thanking her profusely for her thoughtfulness even in the face of Miles’ _terrible_ manners.

Later, when lunch period is nearly over and Ganke deems Miles forgiven for “crimes against bro etiquette,” he is permitted to sit on the picnic table, cross-legged and in the spot he had initially saved for Gwen. His friends are wrapped up in their own discussion regarding the differences in _Sword of the Rings_ between dimensions as Miles exits out of the Spider-Chat app, having thanked Peni for the music. Her parting line hangs in his head:

> **(　･`ω･´)v** : YOU SHOULD ASK HAM AND NOIR ABOUT WHAT KIND OF PEOPLE THEY THINK ARE CUTE ITS HILARIOUS OK CRIME CALLS BYEEE

Mystified, Miles plants his chin on his hand and his elbow on his knee. _Why would that be hilarious?_ he wonders, idly pulling up his browser -- he ought to check what the Daily Bugle has posted recently -- only to stop short when he realizes he already has a window open.

It’s the Quickipedia page for... for pansexuality. Miles suddenly finds his spot in the shade too warm for his liking, but his eyes are already skimming the page.

**SEXUAL, ROMANTIC, OR EMOTIONAL ATTRACTION TOWARDS PEOPLE REGARDLESS OF THEIR SEX OR GENDER… THAT DOESN’T SOUND TOO UNREASONABLE.**

_Yeah, well_ , Miles thinks to himself. _It’s not really any of my business anyway_. He taps his foot as he closes out of the page, glancing up around the courtyard, and his eye catches on the gymnasium again. For a moment he misses his beat, but he recovers quickly enough.

What he had said to Ganke -- about that guy, about Jay -- had been impulsive, not fully thought through, meant mostly as an affirmation for his anxious friend. But, with this moment to himself, he considers the upperclassman through the window.

Even distorted through the thick glass, it is obvious that Jay Walters is _objectively_ attractive: dark auburn hair, sharp cheekbones, a confidence in his stance and direction as he demonstrates move after move. His steps are careful and purposeful; when once he lunges suddenly forward, blade in hand, Miles cannot help but note that the muscles in his legs are clearly defined.

**CERTAINLY KNOWS WHAT HE’S DOING WITH A SWORD, TOO.**

Miles snorts quietly at this. Gwen glances up over her shoulder at the sound, catching his eye, before leaning back with a small smile on her lips. Her back brushes up against Miles’ side, and he feels a quick thrill of nerves shoot up his spine. He expects her to pull away, but instead --

Instead she leans back _farther_ , and then wiggles a little bit, her spine against his hip, making herself comfortable. As though this is _nothing_ , as though she and Miles touch all the time, as though they have been this close and stayed this close for no reason before.

_Oh my gosh? Okay -- hey Morales? Please, please, please be cool_.

She and Ganke are still talking, but whatever they are saying is lost to the sound of the blood rushing in his ears. Miles swallows, recalls breathing, and otherwise stays very still. His eyes flick around the courtyard, checking to see if anyone is watching, but the rest of the students are more absorbed in their own little social circles and the small dramas playing out between them than Possibly the Scariest Moment of Miles’ Life.

**WELL, THAT’S NOT ENTIRELY TRUE.** Miles feels his eyebrows pull down in confusion - what? **SOMEONE** **_IS_ ** **LOOKING THIS WAY.** Unerringly, Miles looks back to the gymnasium, where the figure he himself had been following moments before meets his gaze.

**UH-OH** , says his inner monologue.

If Gwen’s casual display of affection had not already set his heart thundering, then certainly this moment would have; despite the distance and the glass and the many other loud students in the courtyard, the guy’s eyes pierce into Miles’ -- they are sharp, curious, and a deep, wild green.

_Uh-oh_ , Miles agrees, and gulps.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> a month ago i thought to myself: hm, i should read some of the comics before i write more -- whereupon i read more than 200 issues of various spider-man titles (which i then... mostly disregarded for the sake of the plot i had already written for this).


End file.
